


Lucky Starr and the Divers of Neptune

by Kahvi



Category: Lucky Starr - Isaac Asimov
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old family friend sends Lucky off on a mission to Earth's newest colony - the planet Neptune. But what secrets does the luxurious space station NA-1 hold?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Starr and the Divers of Neptune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/gifts).



> For my recipient, who inspired me, my beta, who was a great last-minute help, and Isaac Asimov, for being awesome.

John Bigman Jones turned towards the viewport and took in the sight before him. Everything was… the word _blue_ came unhelpfully to mind, but that description could in no way do it justice. His favorite boots were blue; dark navy and bright cobalt, but this was not the color of a uniform or any sort of metal, or even the bright, translucent blue of a sapphire. As Bigman struggled to find a suitable comparison, his friend and companion Lucky Starr came up behind him and cheerfully patted his back.

“Quite something, isn’t it?”

“Sure. I was just trying to come up with the proper words to describe it.”

“Rather reminds me of the ocean. I suppose that’s why they named it what they did.”

Bigman turned sharply, but his angry glare faded when he saw Lucky’s expression. Ever since their adventures on Saturn, where they’d very narrowly avoided interstellar war, Lucky had been quiet and withdrawn, even for him. They never touched much beyond the odd hug (like the one Lucky had given Bigman after the Sirians had let him go, waiting until they had reached their quarters on the station before embracing him so tight Bigman’s arms still ached at the memory) or incidental touch, but these days, Bigman sometimes felt he was a hologram, visible, but not corporeal. If that was the word. At any rate, it did him good to finally see his friend smiling again. If the joke was on Bigman then, well, so be it!

“Aw; come on, Lucky! You know I don’t know the first thing about the ocean. I was raised the greatest sandpit in the galaxy, and don’t you ever forget it!”

“Maybe if you’d let me take you to New York or San Francisco back on Earth, you could see one for yourself.”

Bigman snorted. “Bah! Who wants to see a cruddy old pool of water anyway? Fat load of good it does anyone, just lying around there. Why, what we couldn’t do with just a little taster of the Atlantic, say, on Mars…”

“You answered your own question earlier; it’s worth seeing because it looks like _that_.”

If there was anything that annoyed Bigman more than a smug Lucky Starr, it was a smug Lucky who just happened to be _right_.

* * *

Earth - in its wider meaning; all the inhabited planets in the solar system – had wasted no time, after the threat of Sirius had been so clearly demonstrated, in staking out its claim on the rest of the planets of Sol. Bases were slowly but surely sprouting up on the satellites of Uranus, and now, only months after what was already being referred to as the ‘Starr Gambit’, the first pioneers were establishing themselves on the outskirts of Neptune. The entire point of the Starr Gambit had, of course, been to avoid the need for such actions, but it was less a matter of logic, Bigman supposed, than human nature. The solar system may belong to Earth, but _claiming_ it gave that extra tinge of satisfaction mere _knowing_ could not. It was the sort of sentiment Bigman could really understand, on a pure, visceral level. It was just plain _good_ for Earthmen, Martians, Venusians and Mercurians – heck, throw the men of the Asteroids right there in with them – to know that all of Sol was _theirs_. It was good for Lucky too, Bigman reflected, as they prepared to dock with the latest addition to the Neptuneian system; the starbase NA-1. The only times he’d seen Lucky so sullen was when he was doubting himself on a particularly challenging mission. Not that there was ever any cause for that doubt, but that was Lucky for you. This was _not_ like him though, this long, drawn out brooding. If anything could draw him out of it, it’d be this; a visit to Earth’s first settlement in the Neptune system!

Still, when he turned around to head back to the _Shooting Starr_ ’s tiny bunkroom, he got another close look at Lucky’s drawn face, and something told him that it might not be as easy as all that.

 

The N-A1 was more like an artificial moon than the space stations of the Moon or Earth. Mounted on the flattened base of an asteroid, it, and the many stations like it surrounding the other gas giants Jupiter and Saturn, had been towed into the planet’s atmosphere by powerful ships and left in a carefully calculated orbit. The station itself was vast and dome-shaped above the craggy rocks, all dull grey metal and plasticrete. With the backdrop of Neptune though, dull was the last thing it looked.

The station loomed above them now, as Lucky and Bigman maneuvered their comparatively tiny craft into docking distance. The _Shooting Starr_ would cling to the outer hull like a limpet, attached by sturdy cables and clamps. For the duration of their visit, it would become, for all intents and purposes, just another part of the greater whole of the station. Bigman considered this as Docking Control calmly went through their checks with Lucky, extending their cold metal arm of welcome. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. The _Shooter_ was their ship - all right, it was Lucky’s, but if Bigman felt he had some small stake in it, then what of it – and it just didn’t seem right. On the farms of Mars, your vehicles were as important as your breathers; even if they weren’t yours permanently, they were what was keeping you alive, and you made sure they were always within grabbing distance; safe and unhindered. Now, you could hardly argue that the NA-1 was unsafe, but just how quickly, Bigman found himself wondering, could you haul ass out of there if the going got tough?

Well, it was probably nothing. Just, as Lucky would say, his farmboy head giving him ideas. Still, he thought, as Lucky signed off and started the slow, methodical process of turning off the locks and failsafes for the airlock doors, that farmboy head was what had kept them alive, many a time.

“So,” Bigman asked, conversationally, “just who is this Jackson Hayridge, anyway?”

“That’s _Professor_ Hayridge, Bigman. And don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him.”

“Any reason why I should have?”

Lucky shook his head. “Well, maybe not. I guess I just that I grew up with it all happening around me, so I expect everyone to know. He was a good friend of uncle Hector’s. “

“Old family friend, huh?”

“Not exactly. He took off for Venus shortly after he made his discovery; their biomedical labs are the best in the system, you know, and I was fairly young at the time. I still remember him, though. He used to do impressions; he could do the weirdest things with his voice.”

The metallic whir signifying the end of the hull depolarization process sounded, and Bigman sprang to his feet. Fond of this old crate as he might be, he’d been cooped up in here far too long. He couldn’t wait to stretch his legs a little. “And just what was his big discovery?”

“You really don’ t know?” Bigman glared at him, and Lucky raised his hands in defense. “All right – just asking. I suppose it’s fair enough; he insisted they not name the vaccine after him. “

“Vaccine?” Something churned in Bigman’s mind – half remembered lessons in school, and that painful shot that everyone bragged about getting through without crying, in the first grade… “Now, wait a minute – he’s the guy behind Serum C?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that makes him the man that cured cancer! No wonder you were looking at me like I’d lost my mind. I should have known him!”

Lucky waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. He’s a very private person; keeps to himself. Even uncle Hector hasn’t heard from him in years. “

“Until now?”

“Until now.” Lucky nodded. “Just a text-only message; no video, no audio, asking me to come and meet him. I think it ruffled uncle Hector’s feathers a bit. Not so much as a ‘long time no see, old pal’, just ‘get me Lucky’.”

“You think he’s in some kind of trouble?”

“Well,” Lucky said, his brown eyes narrowing, “if he’s asking for my help, he probably is.”

 

* * *

 

Bigman wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected. No station or ship was the same, of course, but there were some ubiquitous features; steel and plasticrete walls, uniformly grey or tan or dirty black; strips of thick, cheap carpets on every surface in case the gravity shifted, and rarely, of course, any windows. You couldn’t have _real_ windows anywhere in space, but viewscreens with real time displays were often called such, and put up by ones and twos in reception rooms and other places where you might want to impress a visitor. The welcome lounge of the NA-1 was huge and wedge-shaped, the walls bright white and silver, crystallite chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, lit from within by colored everLites; and the entire back wall, facing Lucky and Bigman as they entered, was covered nearly top to bottom in a huge viewscreen window.

“Sands of Mars,” Bigman muttered. Even Lucky seemed somewhat less than his stoic self, clearly impressed by the sight. Beyond the extravagant décor and furnishings – ornate chairs and pseudosilk carpets adorned the floors – there was the matter of the four large reception desks, manned, if that word were appropriate, by _women_. Noticing, Bigman whistled under his breath, earning a jab in the side from Lucky.

Waiters fluttered to and fro with zirconium trays of sparkling wine. Bigman grabbed two off a passing tray, offering none to Lucky, who didn’t drink on missions, if he could help it. Bigman had never quite seen the point; after all, if you needed to sober up, all you had to do was pop a pill. “I suppose we speak with one of these lovely ladies,” Lucky said, speaking low. There was something about the room; it inspired awe. He strode purposefully to the nearest desk, where the bright-faced brunette looked up as he approached.”

“Welcome to the NA-1, sir! May I ask what your business aboard may be?”

“’Aboard’?” Lucky smiled at her. It was hard not to.

“Our little custom, sir. The NA-1 started out as a ship of sorts, being towed here. People keep using shipboard terms, for luck.”

Bigman held back a derisive snort. He didn’t hold much with superstition, and he knew Lucky didn’t, either. The receptionist cast a glance in his direction, and he looked away.

“We’re guests of Professor Hayridge, “ Lucky explained. “I was told he’d be expecting us.”

“Oh, yes.” The woman’s face became at once more professional. “I’ll electromessage him. Would you like a robot to show you to your quarters?”

“A robot!” Bigman gasped.

“Yes, sir. We have a small number. Some of our residents are Sirian defectors, and one happens to be a roboticist. We have them made on-site.”

“I see,” Lucky said, his face carefully neutral. Bigman knew better than to try and exchange a look with him.

“Now, if you’ll just fill out these forms – standard visitors and customs agreement…”

Bigman’s mind wandered as she spoke. He kept looking towards those gigantic windows, filled with endless, swirling blue. This close to the planet, there were no stars visible, only the vast, turning face of Neptune.

“Go on,” Lucky told him, “I’ll fill these out. They only need one signature.”

Bigman didn’t need to be asked twice. He hurried over to the wall, downing both drinks on the way and setting them down on those forever circulating trays. It was breathtaking. However much you knew it wasn’t a real window, made of glass or plastic, you just wanted to press your face close to it, like that’d get you even closer to the fantastic display. It was hard to imagine that wasn’t all water – Mars was red and brown, after all, and it was one big desert. Earth was blue and green, water and greenery. Boring, to Bigman’s mind, but accurate.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?”

Bigman swiveled in the direction of the voice, startled out of his reverie. A politely smiling middle-aged man in a white cocktail suit stood beside him, his eyes on the window. “It’s something else,” Bigman agreed.

The man turned, offering his hand. “Maxoff Brodin. Late of Sirius – I like to tell people before they figure out on their own. So much less awkward that way.”

It took all of Bigman’s self control, which had never been his strongest side, to simply take the man’s hand and shake it without comment. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could see Lucky out of the corner of his eye, he might not have been able to keep so civil. “John Jones,” he said, measuredly, “People call me Bigman,” and Brodin’s face lit up.

“THE Bigman Jones – how silly of me; I should have recognized you. We get news holos even here at the far reaches of the solar system, you know.” He shook Bigman’s hand vigorously.

“Pleased to meet you,” Bigman managed, resisting the urge to pull his hand back. It seemed so obvious, now that he was looking; the olive skin, the jet black hair; the slightly slanted hazel eyes. Typical Sirian. The hair was styled in Earth fashion, but then it would be; for all intents and purposes, he was an Earthman now.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Brodin said, shaking his head. “My apologies. Considering the political climate, I don’t blame you. But let me assure you; I’ve left Sirius far behind.”

“No need to apologize,” Bigman muttered, casting a hopeful glance in Lucky’s direction. How long could it take to fill out those things? Unfortunately, Brodin noticed.

“And that must be your companion, the famed David ‘Lucky’ Starr?”

“That’s right.” Blast it; the last thing he wanted was to bring Lucky into this. He didn’t need to be reminded of Sirius right now.

“Might I ask what brings you to our station?”

“Oh, we’re just…” Bigman stalled, pretending to admire the view while casting his mind about for a neutral yet natural reply, when suddenly, he noticed a black, static speck in the middle of all the blue. “Say!” He exclaimed, glad of the diversion, “what’s that thing there?”

“Hm?” Brodin leaned closer, his eyes searching the screen in the direction Bigman was pointing. “Ah! That would be our diving platform. We have several, but that’s the only currently active one.”

“Diving?” Bigman craned his neck, pointlessly; it was a black speck in sea of blue, and would remain so, however close to the screen he moved.

“In a manner of speaking. As I’m sure you know, we’re mostly a community of retired scientists, but some of us like to keep active. As Neptune is still in the early stages of settlement exploration, a few of us from the scientific community here at NA-1 set up an exploration and sample finding team. Volunteers put on modified space suits, and dive into the upper layers of the atmosphere. Using a combination of jets and flaps built into their suits, they are able to navigate rather like a diver in the oceans of Earth or Venus.”

“Space!” Bigman stared at the speck. “Are there anyone out there right now?”

“I expect there are.” He smiled. “I’m afraid there’s no magnification on this window, but we do have an observation dome in the leisure center, which doubles as a restaurant.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by later.” Lucky, in his usual catlike manner, had appeared soundlessly at Bigman’s shoulder. I beg your pardon, Professor…”

“Just plain old Mr., I’m afraid. Maxoff Brodin.”

“No shame in that.” Lucky held out his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Brodin?”

Bigman hurried away to stop Lucky from getting caught up in conversation. He heard the two men say a polite farewell, then turned to Lucky as the latter caught up with him. “I thought there’d be a robot escorting us?”

“I told her we’d make do with a locator-stick. It’s not such a large place; we’ll find our way.”

Bigman nodded. After all they’d been through, he didn’t blame Lucky for wanting to spend as little time as possible with a robot.

 

* * *

 

As Lucky predicted, they found their rooms easily enough; an expansive suite on the lower decks, which were favorable for being further away from the machinery and hustle and bustle of the upper promenades. The bedroom alone was bigger than the entire living space on board the Shooter, and had a particular feature that gave Bigman pause. “Only one bed.” He scratched his chin.

“Yes, I noticed.”

“Easy mistake to make, I suppose, two men travelling together and all.” Bigman eyed Lucky carefully. Men found companionship with other men, sometimes for life; no shame in that. A man couldn’t be expected to live in celibacy for choosing a life on any of the colonies, where women were scarce by design. It was a matter of population control; no contraceptive yet invented was foolproof, and there was human nature to be contended with as well. And so, women were simply rationed out, allowed to emigrate as wives and girlfriends in strictly regulated numbers. Not all men took to the touch of another man though, but Bigman did. Did Lucky? That was the question; one Bigman had some vested interest in finding out.

Lucky busied himself with unpacking the few self-cleaning items of clothing he’d taken with him, and collapsing his suitcase. As far as Bigman could tell, he didn’t seem to raise as much as an eyebrow. “Either that, or they thought you’d fit in the bedside drawer.”

“Why you…” His ponderings forgotten, Bigman launched himself at the still nonchalant-looking Lucky, wrestling him to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Professor Hayridge’s office didn’t look like any study Bigman had ever seen. The walls were filled with photographs and holos from the Professor’s many years of research – one of him accepting the Nobel Prize for Serum C; another of him meeting Councilman Cho, Hector Conway’s predecessor; several group photos of smiling people in lab coats, the professor beaming happily among them. Rather than a desk and chair, there were two quite comfortable couches, and two small tables on which were set out hot Venusian tea and Martian sandcakes. Bigman had helped himself to enough of the latter that Lucky had taken to coughing delicately every time he leaned towards the table. The professor himself was a heavyset, tall man, with a bushy grey beard and thick, iron curls. He had the that age-indeterminate look of a man who kept himself in shape, and his eyes were bright green and friendly.

“Well,” said Lucky, after he and the professor had finished chatting pleasantly about old times, and professor Hayridge had commended Lucky on his recent success with the Sirians - which had made Lucky visibly uncomfortable. “Perhaps you might tell us why you’ve asked us here?”

The professor’s pleasant face fell, visibly. He shook his head. “Well David, I wish I could.”

Bigman sat up, cookie crumbs falling from his chin. He brushed them away, impatiently. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean exactly what I said; it would be impossible for me to relate the circumstances of my current problem.”

“So there is a problem,” Lucky said, smiling wryly.

“There most certainly is. Though you will forgive what must seem like absurd stubborn-mindedness on my part; I simply cannot, for reasons that will hopefully become clear if you are indeed able to help me, explain to you the exact nature of what is troubling me.”

Lucky frowned. “Professor; with all due respect...”

“...how can you be expected to help me if you don’t know what it is which which I need help?” Professor Hayridge nodded sadly. “Believe me, I know how utterly foolish it must sound, but this is the only way. I asked you here, David...”

“Lucky, please.”

“If you insist, dear boy. I asked you here, Lucky, and you, Bigman,” Bigman gave a curt nod in acknowledgment, “in the hopes that you could use your famous skills and perhaps prevent a tragedy from occurring.”

“A tragedy?” Bigman was on the edge of his seat. The professor didn’t seem to be making any sense, but this seemed serious.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. There is one fact I _can_ tell you: over the last few weeks, I have been receiving a series of threatening letters.”

“Threatening,” Lucky mused, clearly interested. “How so?”

“Well, the letter writer – who always delivers hand-written notes on paper, shoved under my door, by the way, leaving no electronic signature – is claiming that they ‘know my great secret’, and that I will pay for what I have done. The letters imply, quite crudely, that an attempt will be made on my life, should I refuse to cooperate.”

Bigman shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could tell Lucky was thinking, but as usual, he had no idea what.

“And this secret,” Lucky said, eventually, “is what you are refusing to tell us anything about?”

The professor nodded. “Precisely. “

Lucky leaned forward. “Well then, if you won’t tell us what it is, will you at least tell us if you’re guilty or innocent of it?”

“Alas, I cannot.”

Lucky sat for a moment, motionless. Then he leaned back again, crossing one leg carefully over the other. Neither he nor the professor said anything much for a while, so Bigman helped himself to another sandcake.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t see what he’s expecting us to do,” Bigman muttered later, as they headed down the corridor from professor Hayridge’s office.

“Keep our eyes and ears open, I suppose,” Lucky replied. He seemed distracted, but then again, he usually did, when they were on a mission.

“What good is that when we don’t know what we’re supposed to be looking for!”

“Then we look for _everything_.” And with that, Lucky swerved off down a side corridor.

“Hey,” Bigman yelled after him, “where are you going?”

“Maxoff Brodin invited me to dinner – I thought a former Sirian roboticist might be worth having a chat with.”

“How did you...” Bigman started, then shook his head. Lucky _always_ knew. “Never mind. What am I supposed to do, meanwhile? Those sadcakes don’t fill you up for long, you know.”

“Go down to the leisure center and eat in the restaurant there. Get a closer look at those divers.”

The divers! Bigman had all but forgotten about them. “Sure thing, Lucky,” he yelled, but his friend had already disappeared down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

To someone who had seen the sealit, domed restaurants on Venus, the dining area in the NA-1 leisure center was not as impressive as it might be to someone coming straight from Earth or the moon. There was a huge, magnified viewscreen down the entire length of one wall, but the wall itself was not that long. The overall effect was less impressive than in the lounge, but that was more than made up for by the view itself. Neptune, in all its azure glory, was the backdrop to a large, dark platform – that little black speck Bigman had struggled to make out earlier. Off to one side of the screen, a lesser magnification showed a small shuttle heading its way to the platform from the station.

It was more of a cafeteria than a restaurant; little tables were strewn here and there, and at the far end of the room, a manned dispensary served a number of Venusian, Martian, Lunar and Earth delicasies, buffet style. Bigman heaped a plate full of meat, roots and vegetables, and found a table towards the middle front. He was chewing on a chicken drumstick, and watching the approaching shuttle with interest when he noticed someone standing by his table.

“Is this seat taken?” The cheerful brunette from the reception area smiled at him.

Bigman wasn’t used to talking to women. Frankly, he wasn’t much used to seeing them around at all. Oh, there were plenty on Earth, but when they were back there, Lucky and Bigman tended to keep to themselves in Lucky’s apartment, only going out with Science Council friends who were all, of course, male. Women didn’t go much into science in general, much less the ruling body of the Council; what was the point, when they had so little chance of making a career of it off Earth? Mars had been worse, of course; farmboys did marry, it was not unheard of, but the shuttles of hopeful women that arrived twice a year or so didn’t exactly rush to the farms, to put it that way. Still, he was raised right. He smiled at her, politely, and gestured to the chair opposite himself. “Go right ahead, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She held out a hand. “I’m Sala, by the way. Sala Parker.”

“Ms. Parker.”

“Oh, Sala, please.” She placed her own, modestly stacked tray down, and Bigman suddenly felt uncomfortable at the size of his. “John Jones, wasn’t it?”

“My friends call me Bigman.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Then I certainly hope we’ll be friends.”

Bigman frowned. Just what was that supposed to mean. Before he could question her, however, the smaller section of the on-screen image merged with the larger, as the shuttle arrived at the platform. “Oh,” Sala squealed, “good! It’s starting.”

“What’s starting?”

“The show, you might say.” She grinned. “A team of scientists go out every other day, collecting samples in the upper atmosphere. It’s great fun to watch.”

Bigman did, nibbling on his drumstick. The shuttle door opened, and several men appeared – about half a dozen in all. Each wore a modified space suit, much in the manner Maxoff Brodin had described. In addition, Bigman noticed, each one had a different colored stripe or mark on his suit; here a yellow cross, there a red dot, here a green circle. The helmets had little crests on them, which didn’t seem to much use other than decoration. “Looks like a team of a-grav footballers to me.”

Sala laughed. “You could say that; they do take pride in their acrobatics. Old and middle aged men like showing off, I suppose. “Here,” she said, pointing to a man walking away from the group and to the edge of the platform, “that’s professor Ahn. Astrophysics,” she added, as if it were his team name.

As Sala and Bigman watched, professor Ahn stood straight at the edge of the platform, which clearly had some form of a-grav active, hands gathered at his sides. A count had started up among the watching diners, slowly down from ten. “...8...7...6...5...4...3...2... _Diver off!_ ” They yelled, just as professor Ahn leapt from the edge. Bigman stared, mouth gaping. The camera zoomed out, showing the professor’s flight as he soared away, the wing-like pseudofabric under his arms, and the jets positioned in various places on his suit, allowing him an impressive range of motion.

“This is science?” Bigman asked, blinking. Around them, the crowd applauded; several more had appeared – clearly, this was a popular show.

Sala laughed again. It was a strange sort of laugh, almost melodic. Bigman found himself looking at her when she did it. “So they say. It’s just a bit of fun really, though they do take samples. And there’s not much to do for entertainment over here – we get news holos, but the Outernet doesn’t reach this far yet. Early days, I suppose.” She stirred her tea with what looked like a hollow tube of cinnamon bark.

“Do you know the other divers?”

Sala leaned back in her chair, tilting her head at the screen. “Yes, I suppose so. That’s Marcus Eng, he’s an engineer. Helped make the suits, from what I understand. The guy in the purple is Dominic Hansen, physics. Then there’s Pjotr Ivanov in the yellow, who just jumped, if you didn’t notice the crowd just now, and over there in the red is Jackson Hayridge.”

“Professor Hayridge?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Bigman begun, then halted, remembering. “Yeah,” he said again, a little more casually. “He’s a friend of Lucky’s. Besides, who doesn’t know Jackson Hayridge?” He preened a little.

Sala turned away from the screen, picking at her food. The change was dramatic; she’d gone from bright and sunny to sullen in two seconds flat.

“Say,” said Bigman, screen forgotten, “what’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t want to bother you with it.”

“It’s no bother. That’s what Lucky and I do – help people. “

Sala smiled a little, at that. “I doubt you could help with this. It’s just...” She looked around, but with all the excitement of the crowd, they might as well be alone in an empty room.

“What?”

She leaned forward, licking her lips. “Do you know professor Hayridge? Personally, I mean?”

“No, not really.”

“Seems like the nicest person, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose.” What was she on about? On screen, the remaining men were milling about, presumably watching the other divers, just like the audience here.

“Well, that’s the problem. He’s not just a Nobel Prize winner, he’s _nice_. People like him.”

“You saying they shouldn’t?” The man had seemed perfectly fine, to Bigman.

“How much do you know about Serum C?”

Bigman shrugged. “About as much as everyone knows; it cures cancer.”

“Prevents it, rather,” Sala corrected him. “Or that’s the theory, anyway.”

“Well, people don’t get cancer anymore, do they? So it must be working”

“People don’t get cancer anymore, and maybe Serum C helped that happen, initially, but does that mean we need it now? Cancer could be extinct.”

Bigman poked at his root mash with his fork. That didn’t sound right. He may not be much of a scientist, but he spent a lot of time with them; one very rational one in particular. “I suppose so, but what’s the harm in being safe?”

“Safe!” Sala wiped her eyes, trying not to be obvious about it. “If you want to talk about safe...”

“I...” Bigman didn’t know quite how to deal with this. He was keeping half an eye on the screen. The group had separated now, and several divers were returning. Several of them patted the back of professor Hayridge, who was walking steadily towards the edge. Apparently, he was up next.

“I had a kid brother.” Sala’s eyes were welling up, and she didn’t bother pretending anymore; she’d taken out a pale yellow handkerchief and was dabbing it delicately at the corners of her eyes. “Darren, was his name. He was just twelve years old when he suddenly started hearing voices. He was fine, then suddenly, almost overnight, he’s talking nonsense and seeing and hearing these… these _things_. The doctors told us it was schizophrenia; that there was nothing we could do except keep him medicated, and hope it would help.” She tried to smile. “Well, it didn’t.”

“I’m really sorry hear that,” Bigman said, uncomfortably, “but I don’t see what it has to do with professor Hayridge.”

“Don’t you see?” Sala was almost yelling. “He’d just turned twelve – it was right after he’d taken his Serum C injection!”

“You think that’s what caused it?” On the screen, professor Hayridge was readying himself. He stood straight, arms together, posing much like a diver going into a pool would. He bent slightly at the knees, readying himself.

“It’s not just me – the number of adolescents diagnosed with schizophrenia have increased dramatically since Serum C was introduced.”

“That doesn’t mean...”

“I don’t like Sirius any more than the next person, but some of the medical data we’ve gotten from them in recent years show virtually no cases of schizophrenia at all, and they don’t have a cure for cancer.” She grabbed Bigman’s hand, and he started, looking away from Professor Hayridge. “My brother killed himself because he was sick and confused. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else. Please...”

“ _Oh my stars,_ ” someone shouted, “something’s wrong with his suit!”

Bigman pulled his hand away, and rushed from the table, moving closer to the screen. Professor Hayridge had jumped, and the close-up camera was following him. Rather than soaring gracefully, however, his spacesuited body was spinning helplessly, hands and feet scrambling to gain control.

“He’s lost control,” a young man to Bigman’s right said. “The jets aren’t working; he can’t steer.”

“Why doesn’t someone help him?” Bigman asked. Those useless lugs were just standing there, while the professor drifted further and further away.

“I think they’re afraid to,” the man replied. “See that man over there, with the orange triangle on his back? That’s Marcus Eng, the engineer who built the suits. Looks like he’s holding people back.”

“What?” Bigman fumed. “Why on Mars would he want to do that?”

“Maybe he’s afraid someone tampered with them,” another man suggested. “It might not be just Hayridge’s suit.”

“Hey,” a voice piped up, “looks like he’s all right; the jets are firing!”

The jets were, indeed, firing, but seemingly at random. Bigman and the rest of the onlookers watched in horror as the professor desperately tried to right himself, to no avail. Several of the other divers _had_ taken off now, their suits appearing fine, but Hayridge was accellarating too quickly.

“Those sandbrained idiots,” Bigman mumbled, “why don’t they take the shuttle?”

Eng, the engineer, seemed to have gotten just that idea, though. Just as the little craft seemed to be gaining on the professor, however, the latter changed direction, hurtling rapidly outward.

“The rings,” cried the young man at Bigman’s side, “he’s heading towards the rings!”

Silence fell in the room. Neptune’s rings! Those near-transparent belts of ice and rock, still largely unexplored. Filled with dark matter; and at the speed professor Hayridge was going at, a particle of the right size would almost certainly penetrate his suit, dropping the pressure and killing him instantly. The shuttle couldn’t follow him there; it would only mean risking the life of two men, rather than accepting the loss of one. The _Shooter_ , with its sturdier hull and shields could get there, Bigman thought, but could he reach it in time?

As he pondered, the came a sudden, collective gasp from the crowd. Bigman turned, sharply. There in the doorway, large as life, stood professor Hayridge.

“What’s going on here,” Hayridge blinked in confusion. “I came up to see how the divers were getting on today, and I find you all staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Professor,” Bigman asked, hurrying towards him, “why aren’t you diving today?”

Professor Hayridge shrugged. “I was supposed to, but as you and he were leaving earlier, Lucky slipped me a note suggesting I stay at home today.

Bigman stared. “Lucky told you to...” In a flash, he ran from the restaurant.

 

* * *

 

Bigman raced through the wide, elegant corridors of the NA-1. His heart was in his throat; he was running so quickly his shins were starting to cramp. He didn’t care; he ran on. If he could just get to the _Shooter_ in time, there was a chance, a very small chance, that he could reach Lucky in time. Sands of Mars, what _had_ Lucky been thinking? That he could simply take the place of a man reciving death threats, place himself in a vulnerable situation, and think everything would be fine? Great space, if Bigman found him alive, he was going to kill him!

The docking stations were just ahead. Bigman sprinted past the row of Docking Control desks, ignoring the alarms he set off crossing invisible boundaries. Every second counted! _The Shooting Starr_ was the only ship in dock at the moment, the lock heading to its connecting corridor glowing faintly red. That would be the security override, but Bigman had no time for that, now. He banged his fist against the opener-switch, hoping there was a weakness somewhere, something he could exploit. It would take at least five minutes to get clearance from control; five minutes he didn’t have. Five minutes _Lucky_ didn’t have. He closed his eyes, panic siezing every cell in his body. Survival instinct from his farmboy years was just barely enough to keep him steady, but he wanted to scream; to bite the metal that was keeping him from Lucky, keeping him _away_. As he stood there, banging and kicking, a lock on the opposite wall glowed green, signaling an incoming ship. The shuttle! Momentarily distracted, Bigman did not have time to dodge the security officers heading towards him, but the sight of the man that came with them nearly sent him spitting incoherently with rage.

“You,” he yelled at the approaching former Sirian, “you tried to kill professor Hayridge, and now you’ve killed Lucky!”

Maxoff Brodin looked at him in confusion, while Bigman tried his best to push the security officers away.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that; I know what this is all about. You’re not a defector, you’re a _spy!_ ”

“I beg your pardon?” Brodin took a step back in shock.

“Sirius doesn’t have a cure for cancer! You couldn’t get the data from Earth; our systems are too secure, so you went after the next best thing – professor Hayridge himself.” Blood was pounding in Bigman’s ears; he couldn’t think; he could barely speak.

“This is preposterous!”

“But Hayridge wouldn’t cooperate, so you threatened him. That didn’t work, so you decided to teach him a lesson. Only Lucky got there first, you bastard!” Bigman was spluttering, two men stepping forward to hold him steady. “Let me go, you cobbers; I need to get...”

Meanwhile, the other lock had opened, and people were beginning to step through. One by one, they filed inside, taking their strangely decorated helmets off; all but the man with the orange triangle on his back. Now, just as Bigman was struggling in the arms of the security men, he too, removed his helmet, and ran a hand through his dark blonde hair. “Get what,” asked Lucky Starr.

 

* * *

 

Under the circumstances, Bigman supposed being confined to quarters was getting off easy. It didn’t feel that way, though. He felt bone-tired; soaring relief at Lucky being alive mixed uneasily with frustration and confusion, and the after-effects of adrenaline. Lucky had refused to say much as they were escorted to their rooms, or rather, as Lucky were escorting Bigman. Security had backed off, as had Maxoff Brodin, after a few soothing words from Lucky. The man’s feathers were a bit ruffled, Lucky said, but he would be all right. All right; fair enough, but...

“So, it’s not Brodin?” Bigman lay back in _his_ bed. The large single had been taken apart and placed on either side of the room, presumably at Lucky’s orders. Which answered that, with depressing clarity. It had, Bigman mused, not been one of his better days.

“No, it wasn’t Brodin,” Lucky explained, patiently.

“But Sirius doesn’t have a cure for cancer.”

“They don’t _need_ a cure for cancer. Sirians practice eugenics. Not a child is born that doesn’t comply strictly with their exacting standards for health, and any person who turns out to be flawed – and they would see succumbing to cancer as a flaw – is terminated without sentiment. It is incomprehensible to us, but it is their way.” Lucky was seated on his own bed, fiddling with the fasteners on his boots. He had declared he was going to bed, but unlike Bigman, he had failed to do anything about it. “Besides, if he wanted professor Hayridge to give him the serum,...”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Bigman admitted, reluctantly. “Then who...”

“Your friend, Sala.”

“What – a woman?” Bigman sat up abruptly, the soft plastic duvet sliding nearly off the bed with the force.

“Can’t women kill people?”

Bigman hesitated. He’d never really thought about it. Well, they were people like anyone else, weren’t they? “When you put it like that... but why, though? I mean, she had it in for him, sure, but...”

“Oh, not her personally; someone else rigged the suit. There’s a network of anti-Serum people back on Earth. I just didn’t think they’d come all the way up here, or that they’d go this far. She was meant to distract you, I think, from noticing what was going on on-screen. They knew the _Shooter_ could save the professor in time, so they had to keep you from acting until it was too late. Of course, they didn’t know he’d been replaced with a robot.”

“I shoulda known that. It was acting _exactly_ like the first guy who went over, professor...”

“...Ahn.”

“That’s right. A robot can’t think for itself, so it had to mimic a real person’s movements. It couldn’t improvise.” Bigman leaned back on his elbows. “And that’s why you went to Brodin for help.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Lucky. I guess I made an awful mess of things.”

Lucky smiled. “Not at all. We can deal with Brodin, and Hayrdige has enough influence that the station won’t press any further charges. We’ll get a hero’s welcome tomorrow morning, just you see.”

Bigman nodded, uncertainly. For a while, all was quiet, except the soft, careful sounds of Lucky taking off his boots and socks. Eventually, he rose, stretching. In the half-light of the room, his white undershirt shone almost blue. There wasn’t a gram of fat on him at the best of times, but Bigman noticed he was leaner than usual, by at least five kilos. The same worry that had driven him to run two kilometers in nearly seven minutes flat now focused on Lucky’s frame, and the enigmatic man who dwelled inside it.

“I’ll grab a shower,” Lucky muttered, and Bigman nodded, slipping back down under the covers. Pretty soon, the sound of the sonic cleanser came on, and stayed on. Bigman bit his lip. He was tired and aching, and could have used some human contact, but there was hardly any chance of that here, was there? Back on the farms, men would lie two to a bed, more often than not, and even if nothing ‘untoward’ as the guys would joke, happened, there was still the warmth of another person there. Sands of Mars, he _knew_ Lucky cared for him. Why couldn’t they just relax and have some fun? Beating his head against the pillow, Bigman came to a desicion. He’d made all too many mistakes today, but at worst, he’d just have to scratch up another. Lucky wouldn’t hold a grudge, that he _did_ know.

The heated floor was comfortable under his feet as Bigman pottered off toward the bathroom. The sonic was still running, though you only ever needed 30 seconds or so to get a good, overall clean. He hesitated by the door, wondering if he should knock, though really, what would be the point? He’d only go in anyway. Instead, he whispered “Lucky?” And entered, carefully.

Lucky was standing in the cleanser with his back to him, head down, hand pressed against the wall.

“You can probably turn it off now,” Bigman said, flicking the switch. Lucky nodded, but didn’t move. “Hey,” Bigman took a step forward. “You should get some sleep.” Lucky did turn then, his eyes red. And that, to Bigman, was as shocking as any robot in a space suit. “Lucky,” he said, grabbing the man’s arm, “are you OK?”

Lucky didn’t reply. Not in words. But in a heartbeat he had pulled Bigman close, arms nearly crushing him. That didn’t matter. Very few things did right now, as far as Bigman was concerned.

“I wish you’d let me in,” he muttered, against Lucky’s chest. “I know you have to beat women off with a stick back home, but you don’t seem to care for any of them either. If you don’t want anything from anyone, that’s fine, but if you _do_ , then dammit, Lucky; why can’t you take what I have to offer?”

To Bigman’s great surprise, Lucky pressed his lips to the top of his head. “Later,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please.”

Bigman nodded.

When Lucky finally let him go, he slipped out, and pushed the beds together before getting back in. Lucky could kick him out, for all Bigman cared. But as it was, he didn’t.

 

* * *

 

The NA-1 version of a heroes welcome was, it turned out, a fruit basket delivered to their door in the morning, along with a personal apology from the station’s manager via holovid. They ate the fruit, in no great hurry, neither of them really talking or doing much beyond the minutia of dressing , washing and packing. Bags at the ready, they headed over to professor Hayridge’s office, to, as Lucky put it, ‘tie up some lose ends’. Bigman wasn’t even sure he knew how many threads there had been to begin with.

The office was as Bigman remembered it, though without tea and sandcakes this time. Hayridge was standing by his own private viewscreen, which was currently showing a side view of Neptune, with its rings subtly enhanced for greater visibility. As Lucky and Bigman entered, he smiled. “Quite something, isn’t it?”

Lucky smiled in return. “One of the greatest sights in the solar system.”

Professor Hayridge nodded, thoughtfully, then gestured to the sofas. “Won’t you sit down? There are no refreshments, I’m sorry to say, but I understand you’ll be leaving again right away.”

“Considering yesterday’s events, we thought it best.”

Hayridge nodded again. “Quite so. Although I can’t say I blame you, young man.” He tilted his head at Bigman, who tried to keep his face neutral. “Well. I owe you both a great deal of thanks, and also, I think, an explanation.”

“There’s no need,” Lucky began, but Hayridge waved his protests away.

“There _is_. You saved my life, and all on the very flimsy premise of childhood memories and half-told secrets. And might I say that in your conduct, you have shamed me. I should not have doubted your integrity, Lucky. I’m afraid to say I was... worried.”

Lucky looked no different than usual, though Bigman could see his forehead twitching, like he wanted to frown, but hadn’t quite committed to it.

“I shouldn’t say I’m _glad_ to hear that those despicable anti-serum people were behind these...” he reached into his pocket hand held out a number of crumpled sheets of paper. As Bigman leaned closer, he noticed they were all covered in threathening messages; the words crude and often poorly spelled. “Ridiculous things, as well as the recent attack on my life. And yet, you see, I _am_. “

“You said you had a secret,” Bigman said, ignoring Lucky’s stern look. “It wasn’t about Serum C, was it?”

“No,” Hayridge twitched a smile, “it wasn’t. There are bigger secrets in this world.” He paused for a moment, turning to Lucky. “The girl – Ms. Parker, was it – she was behind it?”

“Party to it.”

Professor Hayridge rubbed his chin. “Yes. I expect she would be. She talked to me, you know. Tried to make me admit I was wrong. But for various reasons, I didn’t think to suspect her.”

Bigman shifted, intrigued. Various reasons – what did that mean?

“You were very young, Lucky, when I saw you last, but I had already lived quite a life. Your uncles knew me, of course, as did your father and several of his other friends. They all knew me, quite well, or so they thought. And I suppose, in a way, they were right. The person I was then; the person I am now, that’s _all_ I am, really. But I wasn’t always this way. “ Professor Hayridge’s back straightened, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer – changed, somehow. “I started life as Jackie Hallstrom.”

The first thought that entered Bigman’s head was ‘but that’s a girl’s name’. Lucky, for his part, sat completely still, lost in thought, throwing the odd glance at Bigman. Finally, he said, in a slightly confused voice. “But there are pills for that.”

Hayridge smiled. “There are pills for people who want to change their bodies to match their gender. That is not what I wished to do. I am female. It feels strange to say it, after 60 years, but it is no less true. The beard,” she added, seeing Bigman’s stare, “is real enough. I felt I could change that much without compromising my inner self. As for companionship...” She shrugged. “I’ve never felt much need for it. I suppose I’m fortunate, in that sense.”

Lucky’s face had grown grim. “You’re the greatest microbiologist in your generation. Possibly in all of human history.”

“And I’m _female_ ,” professor Hayridge added. “Yes. I always knew I had an aptitude for science, but I didn’t want to spend my life teaching bored college kids on Earth. So what choice did I have?”

Bigman swallowed. “If you were ever found out...”

“Oh, they would probably be lenient with me. But it would be a lot of trouble, and I feel I’m too old for it. When I got these letters mentioning a secret, naturally, I thought I’d been found out. And I didn’t quite know what to do about it.” She smiled at Lucky, green eyes shining. “After my death, you’ll tell them, won’t you?”

Lucky nodded. There was little else to say.

 

* * *

 

Neptune was a small, blue speck far behind them by the the time either of them spoke again. Bigman leaned back in his seat, staring at the viewscreen. They were headed back to Earth, which would take some time. Bigman didn’t mind; some time away from people would be good. Time. He tasted the word, glancing over at Lucky. “60 years,” he said, eventually.

“A long time to keep a secret.”

“Longer than I would have, that’s for sure.”

“How do you know?” Lucky asked, his sharp tone startling. His eyes, Bigman noted, were still red, and his shoulders slumped.

“I suppose I don’t,” Bigman said, slowly.

“It’s not right. There are ways to get around the population control issues. But people are lazy.”

Bigman shrugged. As far as he was concerned, this wasn’t news.

“You know, men used to be able to marry. One another, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” Bigman sat up, wondering just exactly where this was going.

“Two men; two women –even more than two, for a while. But it changed. That’s history for you, Bigman. All one big, repeating circle. Science may march on, but people still throw rocks at the things they don’t like or don’t understand. The same biases return, over and over. There were times when you could marry who you wanted to; bed who you wanted to, and no one would care. There were times when, if a man loved another man…” He trailed off.

Bigman watched him for a good, long while. Then, in the light of a billion stars shining through their fake window, he rose, and walked the two steps that brought him next to Lucky’s chair. Then, he hunkered down. “You big lug.” He ruffled Lucky’s hair. “If you don’t like something, change it.”

Lucky turned his face up to his, eyes uncertain, about to reply, but as Bigman saw it, there had been enough talking. And Lucky, once his lips had gotten used to the idea, seemed to agree. Joyously.


End file.
